METEOR SHOWER

OR
PARA TIJUANA



The Lower California
Still is the
Wild West

The inauguration
Of the historic building
Was received
With a surprise

When the
City mayor said
Para—Ti—juan—na
Fire—works
Roared in the city

We all felt
The vibrations
Under our feet

It looked
Like Bagdad
Under attack
Iraq with
A Tijuana accent

Rays of light
Shooting up
In the darkness
Of the sky

Trying to hit
Invisible invaders

With the first bang
There was
A collective feeling
Of an assassination attempt

And everybody said
Ahhhhhhh!
But when the
Night sky lit up
Thoughts were different

There were
So many explosions
And many flashes

The smoke moved
Amongst the
Parked vehicles and
The stunned people
It dance to the tune
Of confused
Car alarms

TOOLS OF THE TRADE


1 of my doctors
Writes with
An astronaut pen

He said
He lost many
But has managed
To keep
The one
He’s using to
Write on my file

I told him I used
To have one
That I purchased
In the Northwest

I got mine
In an outdoor store
He got his
On the internet

I told him
I am concerned
Because the pens
Don’t come
With clips

He explained they
Come in
Many different models
And added
That he likes his
“my bullet”
He called it

And it does look
Like a silver bullet

He gave me
A new cane
Told me
I can use it
To hit

We both smile
And when we
Were parting ways
He said
Enjoy your new stick

APOLOGY


I am sorry Aaron
I knew it was
Your shot
But I went ahead
And fired my rifle

I could see disenchantment
Taking possession
Of your European features

You didn’t seemed
Like the vengeful type
But I had my 45 ready
Just in case

There were 2 of them
One was for you
And the other one
For me

And you were
So professional
And courteous
You gave me
The first shot

I raised my 30’06
And looked
Through the scope
And I saw
Behind the crosshairs
The gracious silhouette
Of God’s creation

And I breathed in
And slowly began
To exhale as
My index finger
Slid down and
Caressed the trigger
And did not pull it
But I did press it

And the experience
Was so intense
That I didn't
Heard or felt
The powerful detonation

And about
A football field away
I saw my prey jump
And runaway

But its friend stayed
Right there
It did not move
It froze
So you aimed
And concentrated

I quickly worked
The bolt—action
Aimed and fired
Once again
And I missed

We both watched
How it ran away
Gracefully leaping
Through the
Beautiful northwest country

So we walked down
The hill quietly
Moving slowly
In the dawn

And we found
The blood
And we followed
The red trail
And I knew
This kill was mine

And I was
Going to explain
My reasons
For the certainty
Of death
But I decided
To keep quiet

We found
My game
Under a tree
A complete harvest

And I thought
I had missed
And hit the ground
And that made him jump

No!
The spirit of
The bullet
Lifted that
Unit of proteins
In the air
And it lifted
My sensations
Even higher

THE REPORTER


He was stopped
By masked men
With machine guns

I thought they were
Going to kidnap me
He said

I tried to reassure him
I told him
That if he’s not
A millionaire
He has nothing
To worry about

They asked him
About his profession
And he told them
He’s a journalist

He should tell
To the ones
Pointing guns at him
That he covers the arts
And not the
Police department
Not local politics